The Invitation
by CompulsiveLoser
Summary: Christine attempts to present Erik with an invitation to her wedding, but Raoul forbids her to go back to the world which now plagues both of their nightmares. Afraid of betraying Erik once more, she returns to the Paris Opera House.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's _The Phantom_ as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.**

I held the invitation back in my hand, admiring my own work. I had added just the right amount of flourish to my handwriting that it now seemed almost calligraphic. With great care, I set it down on the desk, and began to rifle through the drawers for an envelope.

Raoul had been reading quietly in one of the soft armchairs while I had been writing. However, I could now sense his eyes following me with a playful curiosity.

"Dearest, what are you looking for?" he finally asked me.

"An envelope for the invitation."

"I thought all the invitations had been sent out already," he said, a bit alarmed, "The wedding is tomorrow, Christine, and you still haven't delivered them yet?"

I stopped looking through the desk and ran my eyes back over the lone invitation. Slowly I traced the gold leaf around the edge of the thick paper.

"All but one," I replied softly.

I waited through the confused silence, and I could feel the horrified realization as it rose through Raoul.

"I will not allow it," he said in an icy tone.

"You made a promise to him, Raoul," I said, staring blankly at the wall ahead of me, "_We_ made a promise to him."

Raoul stood up and was quickly at my side. He grabbed my face, forcing me to look into eyes, perhaps hoping I could read the fear they portrayed.

"He is a madman, Christine, I would have promised him anything if I had thought it could get you out of there."

I jerked my head from his hands, and stood up defiantly from my chair.

My head raised high, I took the invitation from the desk and told him firmly, "I will keep our promise, whether or not you approve."

I stalked away from the desk and watched as Raoul tried to take my arm to keep me from leaving. Suddenly, I felt the invitation slide from my fingers, and I realized I had misjudged the target. I turned around as Raoul began to shred the invitation, the tiny pieces fluttering onto the floor.

"I thought you had grown up, Raoul De Chagny," I hissed, "but it seems you are still nothing but a spoiled child!"

Raoul flushed deeply at those words, and I stared at him for a moment before storming out of the room.

I ascended the stairs rapidly, tripping over the hem of my own skirts as I climbed. I was sure everyone in the household had heard our argument but I wasn't about to start caring. I ran into my room, and threw myself down onto the bed. Tears began to brim the edges of my eyes, and I thought about spending the day pouting here in my bedroom.

_I suppose I'm no better then Raoul_, I thought, pressing my face further into the pillows, _it seems we are matched perfectly in our childish ways._

In an attempt to prove myself wrong, I sat up on the bed and wiped the tears away from my eyes. It hadn't been until then that I had thought to make good on my bluff to Raoul and venture back on my own.

In truth, I was just as terrified as Raoul about returning to the Opera House, but even now I would not dare to betray Erik's trust again. I had expected Raoul to play the role of my knight in shining armor once more, but it was stupid of me to think that he would willingly take us back into the bowels of that nightmare.

I slowly rose from the bed and crossed the room to my closet, and fingered through my dresses until I found a dark cloak near the back corner. I pulled it up around my shoulders and clipped the fastener into place around my neck.

I allowed myself a quick glance in the mirror, carefully tucking a few stray curls back from my face. I knew that vanity would not be an issue tonight, but I should at least look presentable out of respect. I hurried out of the room, bashing into my maid just as I rounded the bend to the main staircase. I blurted out an unconvincing apology before continuing down the stairs and out the front door.

After tripping my way down the cobbles of the walkway, I finally made it out into the street. I hailed the nearest cab and instructed the driver to take me to the Paris Opera House.

"Mademoiselle, I am afraid the Paris Opera House was burnt down several weeks ago," the driver told me, obviously excited to think that I had not heard this bit of gossip.

"I realize that," I replied fiercely, "I want you to take me to what's left of it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's _The Phantom_ as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.**

Raoul peeked cautiously into Christine's bedroom, hoping he could bring this little game of hide and seek to an end. He had been searching the house for just over half an hour now, and still had not managed to find her. The rumpled comforter and pillows indicated that she had been there at some point today, but she was definitely elsewhere at this point.

Raoul let out a disappointed sigh—he couldn't imagine that this was what either of them wanted to remember as the precursor to their wedding.

Although Raoul was determined to make amends, he still thought Christine had been completely unreasonable. In his eyes they owed Erik no favors, and he would be damned before he let Christine return to that madman.

He caught a glimpse of Christine's maid, Anna, as she rounded the corner of a hallway, and called out to her. She whipped her head around out of surprise, but quickly averted her eyes to the floor once she saw it was Raoul.

"Good day, monsieur," she mumbled with a curtsey.

He had been employing Anna for several weeks now, and it troubled him that she still seemed to feel so awkward in his prescience. Perhaps he'd ask Christine about it later, but for now he just needed to find her.

"Good afternoon, Anna," he said in what he hoped was a friendly tone, "I was just curious if you knew where I might find Christine—I'm afraid I haven't seen her since this morning."

She stole a look into his eyes before casting her gaze downward once again

"I believe she left several hours ago, monsieur. I do not know where she was headed."

Raoul had not even allowed himself to entertain the idea that Christine would have gone to see Erik alone.

He stood silent in the hallway for a moment, horrified at his own naïveté. He allowed his mind to roll over the idea a few times before he felt his stomach grip with fear.

Within seconds he was at the door, yelling forgotten thanks at Anna for her help. Raoul rushed to the stables, pulling a black mare from her stall. He threw a bridle and saddle onto the horse, and hopped onto her back.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep it out of his eyes as he galloped along the Parisian streets. He silently cursed Christine for her careless stunt, but gave the horse another swift kick to the side as he rode towards the Paris Opera House.

Although I knew it was unladylike, I couldn't help leaning out the window of the carriage as it approached the Opera House. Most of the building still stood up defiantly from the surrounding ash and rubble, mocking my tragedy.

Even now I could remember Raoul dragging me up from depths of Erik's lair, the sounds of the mob rising out of the floor. I was already in tears by time I heard the screams of Erik's beloved organ as it was destroyed. Clinging to Raoul with heavy sobs, I prayed that Erik's fate would not be put into the hands of this unruly mob.

Once we made it outside, Raoul stopped me in front of the Opera House, keeping me warmly in his embrace. I calmed down a bit after this, and then asked that we leave right away. Raoul refused and instead insisted that we stay and see this whole thing through. He was just as hungry for Erik's blood as anyone else, if not more.

Slowly we saw the mob began to disperse, clearly disappointed at losing their pray. However, many of the members were still determined to purge the city of the monster and went so far as to set fire to the Opera House. Everyone in Paris must have watched the flames as they licked away at the night sky, all too eager for the story this spectacle promised.

I took in a deep breath in an attempt to collect myself before I stepped out of the carriage. I silently paid the driver, purposefully keeping myself from looking up at the charred remnants of the building. Finally I was able to force myself up the stone steps and through the tattered entrance.

It took me quite a while, but I was able to define enough of the wreckage to figure out what had once been my dressing room. I was not at all surprised to see that the full-length mirror had been completely shattered, the pieces now winking up at me from the blackened floor.

I stepped into the passageway, wincing as the fallen glass cracked loudly under my heels. It wasn't until then that I realized that it was quite possible that just about any sort of individual may have taken up residence in this god-forsaken place, and there was no one here to protect me this time. As long as he was left alone, Erik would not have risked himself just to scare off some wandering thug.

I stumbled through the dark passageway, pressing my hand up against the cold, stone wall for a guide. I reflected on how stupid it had been of me to assume that I would be able to make way through these caverns without even a light to help me. I could only hope that the mob had already set off most of Erik's traps.

Though it took some time, I managed to find my way to the underground lake unscathed. My stomach dropped as I noticed that the boat was not in fact tied to the dock like I had expected. Seeing as I could hardly swim at all, my plans had been wholly contingent on it being there.

Luckily, with a glance further down the lakeside that it had hastily been pulled onto the shore, the oar thrown nonchalantly onto the ground beside it. I realized that it was left in the exact same place Raoul and I had left it, and apparently that's where it had stayed. Had Erik not had a single visitor in the time that had passed?

I took the oar in my hand and settled myself down into the boat. After a few minutes of prodding at the shore, I was able to push the boat off and into the water.

I had never had to row a boat before, and I tried clumsily to steer myself the right direction. Eventually I was able to make some headway and watched the shore fade into the mist behind me.

As I came near the opposite shore, my oar unexpectedly caught on something that was in the water. Out of surprise, I dropped it into the water, landing with a splash. I silently reprimanded myself and carefully leaned over the side of the boat as I tried to reclaim the oar.

Suddenly, an icy hand shot out of the water, grabbing me at the wrist. I let out a small cry as it pulled me over the side and into the cold lake. I began to flail wildly, water filling my lungs as I tried to scream.

In a moment of rationalization, I realized whose hands it must be as I was dragged further down. My vision began to fade, but I used my hands to search out the form that I knew had to be there. Not knowing what else to do, I took the form into my clinging embrace just like the frightened child I was. Finally, I allowed myself to give in to the darkness that had been ebbing away at my consciousness.

_Erik, please._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's _The Phantom_ as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.**

**Also, I just wanted to give out a thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review my story. This chapter is in the 3rd person, and I wanted to put it in to give a little insight into Erik's thoughts and it just seemed the best way to do it. Anyways, thanks again and I'll do my best to make this story worth reading!**

Erik sat down quietly at the end of the sofa, holding his head in his hands. Briefly, he peered through his hands to look down on the woman who lay before him.

Her skin was cold to the touch, and had been quite pale ever since he had pulled her from the water. The rosy hue he had remembered gracing her lovely cheeks had completely faded, and even her lips were barely able to hold onto a shade of pink. The only hint of life in her at all was the subtle rise and fall of her chest.

Still, Erik was not able to stop himself from practically gaping over the angel he had lost.

Only Christine could stand between the blurred lines of life and death and retain this beauty, Erik thought solemnly to himself.

He ran his fingers over his own face, tracing the marks of his deformity. It served as a short and painful reminder that such splendor was out of his grasp.

Ashamed at the prospect of being seen without his mask, he swiftly carried himself to his room where it lay on his dresser. He fixed the cool porcelain onto his face, reveling in the confidence it bestowed in him.

He walked back into the main room, where Christine still lay silently sprawled across his sofa.

Disgust swept through him as he realized this "angel" had willingly forfeited herself as the property of his rival.

He had given her a love so potent that it held the power to torment his very soul, yet she had fallen into the arms of another. Perhaps she was not the confused innocent as he had always thought, or the naïve victim of a childhood infatuation.

It was quite possible that even if Christine had not understood the affect she had on Erik, she certainly was able to recognize the power it gave her. Through him, she was able to obtain a degree of talent, fame, and support that she could have never managed on her own.

In return, she gave him her limited affections, never bothering to cover up the underlying tones of pity that lay at their root. He had become a charity in her eyes, although she was careful to give only what she needed to keep him under her control.

Erik glared down at Christine, grinding his fingernails into his palm as a new hatred stirred within him.

He was not sure why she had returned, but he would not allow himself to fall victim to this siren's desires again. This time around he would prove himself as the master of the situation, and Christine would soon regret her decision of returning to toy with the Phantom of the Opera.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's _The Phantom_ as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.**

I awoke with a start, and bolted upright from wherever I had been lying down. Before I was even allowed a moment to collect my thoughts, I found myself staring directly into the dark sockets of a white mask.

Suddenly there was a horrible clash inside of me as I became aware of my surroundings as well as my own body. Too late I noticed the bile as it rose in my throat, and I was forced to relieve the contents of my stomach onto the floor beside me.

Disgusted with myself, I kept my head hung over the side of the sofa, doing my best to avert my eyes from both the floor and my host. I instead contented myself by inspecting the bits of vomit that had stuck in my curls, trying to ignore the acrid smell that was now rising to meet me.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that you've found a way to forever immortalize your sentiments for me on my rug," Erik said in a curt tone, "However, I wonder if I'm only flattering myself by thinking there's some other reason you're here?"

Pushing my hair away from my face, I leaned back into a reclining position on the sofa, careful to direct my stare at the ceiling.

A chill ran through my body, and I instinctively wrapped my arms about myself. My hands met cold, damp cloth and I realized that I was still wearing the garments that had accompanied me into the lake.

I started to let out a bitter laugh, but I choked on it and quickly became a sputtering cough.

"I've come to invite you to my wedding, Erik." I croaked, finally turning my gaze on him.

He looked the same way I had always seen him in my mind's eye—looming over me as he stared through the white porcelain of the mask that gave him an air of constant collectedness. However, this time he looked upon me as though he were seemingly dead behind those golden eyes.

If my statement had stirred anything inside of him, he was not about to let it be known to me.

Surely, he would not have forgotten the promise that earned Raoul and I our lives the last time I was before him?

"I—we had promised you a hand written invitation, you know…for your collection," I added lamely, hoping this could rouse the memory.

"Ah," disinterest blatant in his voice, "I don't suppose it survived the lake."

"It never got the chance. I'm afraid the invitation was not able to survive Raoul."

A smile touched the corners of my mouth and I shrugged, hoping I could keep my emotions just as well covered as Erik.

My eyes wandered towards the ceiling once again, and a shiver coursed through me. I hugged at my chest, hoping that it might help me to keep warm.

"I know your clothes must be making you quite cold, but I did not want to take you out of them—I would not wish to impede on the rights of your fiancée."

I stared at him in shocked offense.

"That is _not_ a right," I retorted angrily.

"The privilege then," he said waiving his hand at the matter.

I picked myself up off the sofa, not willing to take this slander lying down.

"Would it kill you to be civil? Do you at least have something I could change into?"

A slight smile made it's way to Erik's lips, and I watched as amusement entered his expression for the first time, fueling my outrage. He quickly turned away from me and glanced about the room.

"As you can see, the mob succeeded in destroying most of my possessions, and I'm afraid the dresses I kept for you were among those. I didn't see a reason to replace them."

I looked around the room, surveying my surroundings for the first time.

While most of the loose debris had been picked up, many of his belongings where gone, and the ones that remained were severely damaged. The furniture held deep gashes, the flesh of the wood standing out starkly against their stain.

My heart pained when I saw the number of chipped and missing keys on Erik's organ. The pipes snaked up to the ceiling a mess of twisted, ravaged metal.

Even the sofa I had been lying on was covered with gashes, its stuffing pouring out onto the floor.

Frustrated, I knitted my brows together and gave a slight pout of my lip. I had grown so accustomed to being cared for and pampered, I wasn't sure what to do. I looked at Erik helplessly.

He ignored me, completely uncaring, and busied himself by removing an invisible piece of dust from the lapel of his eveningwear.

"There's nothin_g_ I could change into?"

"The only clothes I have are my own."

We stood in silence for a moment, and I bit down on the tip of my tongue. I would not be the one to suggest such a thing.

He eyed me up and down for a moment, before he decided to speak again.

"I have clothes you could borrow—if you wouldn't be too disgusted to wear the skin of a monster."

My eyes dropped to the floor, but I did not reply. I felt, rather then heard, as Erik let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'll set them out on the bed in the other room."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's _The Phantom_ as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.**

**Note: Sorry it took so long to post, and I truly have no excuse except to say that I've been terribly busy. All I can say is that midterms, romance, and Halloween are a deadly combination and have the power to suck time out of a person's schedule like nothing else. Anyways, the story finally continues with this chapter, so please read and review.**

I let my soaked garments fall to me feet as I stood in the room that had once been mine. I was not surprised that it had been relabeled as "the other room", and it had been appropriately redecorated to fit the title.

While I was sure the mob had done their fare share in the work, Erik had certainly done his best to relieve the room of anything reminiscent of myself. The room was clean; the surfaces of the furniture free of any type of clutter, and the dresser drawers completely empty. All that remained was the damaged furniture, although I did notice that the full-length mirror had been removed.

My hand lingered over the clothing that had set on the bed for me. Admittedly, I was put off by the fact that Erik had worn them, but I would never have told him such a thing.

I had always thought of his clothing as an extension of himself and, like he had said, a skin.

The thought of Erik's skin upon my own was enough to send cold shivers up my spine. I couldn't help but recall the way it had felt each time he had taken my hand or touched at my face. His touch had normally been quite gentle, but he truly had the skin of a living corpse, so cold that it seemed to take the very life out of me.

Still, it was my only option outside of illness, so I reluctantly grabbed the dress shirt and slipped into it, rolling up the sleeves before I started at the buttons up the front.

Next, I pulled the pants up around my waist, but even with the shirt tucked in they drooped down onto my hips. Thankfully Erik was a thin man, or I would not have been able to wear them at all.

However, he also happened to be quite tall and the legs of the pants dragged on the floor behind me as proof. I rolled them up as well, and left the room, silently thankful that there was no mirror to show me how ridiculous I looked.

I watched Erik as he stood idly in the main room, his back to me. Letting a half smile cross my face, I moved to stand before him. Still grinning, I locked eyes with him as I lowered myself into a mock curtsey.

Any expression he held in his eyes instantly dulled, although he was careful not to let his eyes leave my gaze.

As soon as I was standing up right again, Erik turned from me and began to stalk out of the room. My gut burned with anger as I watched his retreating form—I had been hoping for at least some kind of response.

My hand groped at the nearby table, and took the first thing I could fit in the palm of my hand. Without even thinking, I hurled the object right into the small of his back, bringing Erik to an immediate stop.

I began to back up slowly as I kept my eyes on Erik's motionless figure, my mind screaming at me for allowing myself to do something so reckless.

Before I had time to cry out, I was thrown up against the wall, Erik's hands pressing hard into my shoulders. I clenched my eyes shut as his face came within inches of my own, his amber eyes flashing wildly.

"How dare you, you _vapid_ child!" he hissed at me, his thumbs digging into my collar bone, "Are you really so starved for attention that you seek to belittle the man you have already destroyed!"

The pressure of his hands increased and the pain eventually took reign over my body. I choked on a cry as it attempted to escape from my throat, but my eyes remained tightly closed.

"That's hardly an answer, my dear," he said with a cruel laugh, "You know, if you were anyone else…"

One of his hands slid towards my neck, and I bowed my head as I tried to protect myself.

I heard a small clicking noise, and Erik suddenly released his grip. His hands still rested on my neck and shoulders, but only with the lightest of touch. I slowly opened my eyes to see a cocked pistol aimed straight at Erik's head.

My eyes followed the barrel of the gun, up a cleanly dressed forearm, all the way up to the face of the man who wielded the weapon—my very own fiancé, Raoul.


End file.
